Descent to Madness P2

*Author’s note: Sorry for the delay. I’ve been a bit busy moving recently. So, in return, I’m dedicating more time to this one. Also, I’ve changed the name for my account to BrokenWalker.

Enjoy!

It was four days ago. I had called the police, collapsing from shock before I could finish. I was rushed to the hospital, and spent 36 hours there. Leaving with a fresh batch of medications and a considerably lighter wallet, the staff had almost convinced me that the monster was conjured up by my mind. That the cut on my shin was logically explainable. Especially when a search of my apartment turned up no results of forced entry. But my subconscious knew. It knew that the creature that appeared on that night was real. Not a vision, but a diabolical entity, with the desire to rend my flesh. As a result, my paranoia ramped itself up several steps. Hour after hour, I spent locked in my apartment. I scoured the Internet, searching for answers. There were so many matches, but they were all hoaxes. This being was too bulky to be the Rake. Not humanoid enough to be Slenderman or Jeff the killer. I had to keep searching.

One week had passed since that eventful night. I slept scarcely, and restlessly. Although the creature had not shown itself since, I was still plagued by nightmares. Massive, willowy, shadow figures pulling me into their darkness, snuffing me out and suffocating me. I always awoke in a cold sweat. Currently, I was staring at my reflection. I was unshaven, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed. Studying myself, I noticed something in the corner of my bathroom. Wielding my straight razor, I slowly rotated. Terrible idea. The instant I turned, sharp, bony hands gripped my shoulders. Instinctively, I tensed my arms and yanked back with everything that I had. With a sickening slicing sound, the fingers slid off of my shoulders, lacerating deep into the muscle. My vision reddened, driven insane with pain. I dove out of the room, slamming the door and securing the lock tightly. In a daze, I stumbled to my front door. I tried to turn the nob, but it was frozen. As a terrible realization dawned on me, I panicked. I hurled my now blood covered body at the door, smashing it with every fiber of my being. The only result was even more pain, as well as blood splattered all over the walls. I stumbled to the couch, collapsing into it’s embrace, my vision fading into unconsciousness.

My eyes flickered open. Exhaling deeply, I attempted to sit up, but it was as if my body was locked down. I knew what was coming. My terror spiked, layers of fear rolling over my body. A wet slapping sound was audible, just behind me. The being moved around the couch, revealing it’s new vessel. A thick, massive skull, covered in a clotted, matted coat of coarse fur. Massive, chiseled arms, obviously capable of unimaginable strength. Pulverizing jaws, full of crowded, bloody massive piercing fangs and slicing incisors. It’s hulking body, layered in an impervious and rigid composition of musculature, serving as a nigh impenetrable defense. It’s enormous, powerful hands gripped my body. My limbs are torn off as if on a whim, my bones snapping without effort. The creature lifted my shredded body. It’s enormous jaw unhinged, stale breath flowing over me. In an impossibly deep rumble, the creature uttered one word: Adramalech. My vision faded as it’s massive molars masticated my body.

Lieutenant Jasin rubbed his eyes. Another lost case in a string of brutal serial murders. The most recent was a young man, Keith Rivas. Star student and athlete, as well as suffering from mild schizophrenia. Just like the other victims. However, this time there was a lead. The murderer had somehow torn his limbs from his body before mutilating his body beyond recognition. The only mode of identification was a tooth found several feet away. Once again, all the same. But this time, the killer had written a massive “A” with the victim’s blood. Reviewing the case, Jasin caught a detail. Zooming in on a photo of the scene, he noticed a piece of paper tucked into the victim’s torn stomach lining. Inscribed on the paper was a single phrase: I’m sorry.